


every good boy does fine

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:12:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a sex addiction, and Niall just complicates things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every good boy does fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberryfinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/gifts).



> Someone really needs to take my netbook away from me because if I spend enough time on it, stuff like _this_ happens. Inspired by the film _Shame_ and it's the longest standalone I have ever written, at 17k words. I wrote about 1,200 words every night before I went to bed so this was one of the smoother ones I've done, mostly because it took a whole month to finally finish this but I'm satisfied with the result. Dedicating this one to [Isa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn) for surviving her MCAT and I'm super proud of her.
> 
> [ _Extras_ ](http://thesilversparrows.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-every-good-boy-does-fine)

It’s break time and Harry tries to block out the chattering of his coworkers, eyes plastered on the flashing computer screen like it’s the most important thing in the world, and he clicks video after video, looking for names that catch his attention or moving thumbnails that pique his interest, trying to figure out which one he’s in the mood for. 

When it comes to pornography, Harry doesn’t really have much of a preference, doesn’t really discriminate when it comes to gender or appearance, though he doesn’t mind attractive men and women popping up on his screen every now and then. He’s more interested in amateur videos, though, as opposed to professional ones because of the awkward dialogues and sad attempts at plotlines and all it does is make him lose momentum and he hates when he has to get hard all over again, but he watches them occasionally when he’s feeling bored or if there’s nothing new on the “Amateurs” tag and he absolutely needs to get himself off. Sometimes, he checks out the more obscure fetishes when he’s feeling particularly adventurous, when the same old videos just won’t do, but more often than not, it scares him more than turns him on, so he comes crawling back to that “Amateur” tag that feels so much like home and finishes what he started.

Right now, there’s a blonde woman on his screen with large breasts, squeezing them in her hands as the man writhes under her, hands on her hips, pushing her up, down, up down, and the woman’s moans fill his ears and he’s getting harder, now, and he slides his hands down to rub himself through his trousers and he can hear himself breathing heavier, sweat sliding down his temples because the woman’s screaming now, letting go of her breasts and throwing her head back, planting her palms on the man’s chest as he groans, deep, rugged groans that sounds like he’s in pain but Harry knows all too well that he’s far from it, and he’s rubbing himself harder now, his other hand gripping the edge of his desk for support and he leans closer to the screen, pushing his chair further back under his desk, tracing out the look of ecstasy on the woman’s face and in a moment, he’s mirroring her expression, closing his eyes until he can feel it building in the pit of his stomach, a pressure getting bigger and bigger and he squeezes and tugs like he’s doing it for the first time in his life until—

_“You coming, Haz?”_

Zayn’s voice cuts through his earphones and his eyes snap open, past the point of no return, and he squeezes them shut with a pained groan when he shoots, feeling the warm liquid spreading along his thighs as he goes, and when he’s done, he pants for a few seconds to catch his breath and looks up at Zayn watching him over the cubicle wall, his green eyes forming a question mark.

“You alright, mate?” Zayn says with a chuckle, half a smirk playing along his lips. “You look like you’ve just—”

“M’fine,” Harry replies, pulling off his earphones and wrapping his arms around his stomach, and he pushes further underneath his desk to hide the stain seeping through his pants. “Stomachache.”

“So that’s a no, then?” Zayn asks, and Harry nods his head and rests it on the desk next to his keyboard.

“You go on, I’m not feeling very hungry,” he replies, dropping his eyes to look at the stain. It’s already taken up half the length of his thigh.

“Well, _obviously_ ,” Zayn says, and Harry can feel him rolling his eyes. “I’ll just get you a sandwich for later, then.”

Harry lifts his head up and flashes a grin. “Thanks.”

Zayn disappears back in his cubicle and Harry sits up, closing all of the tabs on his browser and clearing the history before pulling up a spreadsheet of sales from the past week and opening the first drawer under his desk. He slides out a pair of pants from between two folders and pokes his head out of his cubicle. Their area is nearly empty, quiet aside from scattered tacking of keyboards and random bursts of muffled conversations, and Harry looks around his desk for an excuse to go to the bathroom so he can clean himself up. All he finds is a mug half-filled with cold coffee from this morning, though, but he reckons it’ll work just fine, and, looking around him one last time, he knocks it down on his desk and he jumps up with a start, patting his trousers and groaning.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exclaims through his teeth, and Zayn’s head shoots up from the other side of the cubicle again, brows knitted in curiosity. “Just my fucking luck.”

Zayn attempts to hide a snicker. “Mate, this is not your day, is it?”

“I’m about to punch in, to be quite fucking honest,” Harry retorts, picking up the mug and digging out a box of wipes from the drawer.

“Go clean yourself, I’ll take care of it,” Zayn says, and Harry nods his thanks before bunching up his spare trousers and tucking them under his arm before stalking out of his cubicle without another word.  


  


-

  


Harry fishes out his keys from his jacket pocket and looks at Louis from the corners of his eyes, taking a moment to study him as he unlocks the door.

Louis swipes his copper hair from his eyes and slides his hands in his pockets while he waits, jeans and shirt two sizes too small for his body and Harry can just make out the bulge in his trousers, the fabric stretching tight between his thighs, and Harry likes the narrowness of his body, the sliver of skin peeking out under the hem of his shirt, and he can already feel himself getting hard.

Harry finally opens the door and motions for Louis to come in, and Louis flashes him a smile before walking forward and looking at Harry’s flat.

It’s a modest flat, Harry thinks, with all the proper necessities and large glass windows overlooking the city. It’s sitting near the top of the building and the view’s spectacular, and Louis moves over and places his palms on the glass, looking down at the cars driving up and down the streets like tiny, sparkling ants, and Harry takes off his scarf and throws it on the sofa, watching Louis’s backside sway back and forth in interest like he’s looking through the bars of a zoo.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Louis says, looking at Harry over his shoulder with a grin. “Love the view.”

“Me as well,” Harry replies with a smile, and when Louis looks down at his own backside, he tosses his head with a laugh and turns back to the window.

“I’ve never done it in a place like this before,” Louis tells him, taking a few steps back and resting his hands on his narrow waist. Harry shrugs off his jacket and drapes it neatly over the armrest, and he digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, taking out a few bills.

“You want to?” Harry asks, folding the bills and walking closer, and Louis turns around to face him and looks at the money in his hands. Harry offers it and Louis takes it off his fingers, flipping through each note while he counts. When he’s done, he stuffs the bills in his pocket and grips the hem of his shirt, and Harry watches him as he pulls his shirt up and over his head, throwing it on the floor before stepping toward Harry and wrapping his arms around his neck. His heart begins to race and he feels sweat running down his forehead, and he watches the lust dancing in Louis’s blue eyes.

“I’d love to,” he says with a laugh, and Harry slides his hands down to grip Louis’s waist, leaning forward and pressing kisses down his neck.  


  


-

  


Sometimes, Harry wonders what it is about him that Zayn likes so much because there he is again, sitting in a cab getting dragged off to another bar when he’d rather be back home, really, eating the leftover Chinese he has in the fridge and watching that movie he started a few days ago but never really finished because he’s been too busy the entire week, but no, Zayn has other plans, _always_ has other plans and Harry swears he can’t understand English very well because every time he says “no,” Zayn smiles at him and takes it as a “yes” and one of these days, Harry’s just going to say _“yes”_ to see if he’ll finally leave him alone.

The cab stops and Harry steps out into the cold night air while Zayn pays the driver, and he tightens his jacket around him as he looks around. He notices the familiar street, just one away from his flat, and he recognizes the bar across the street, neon sign the shape of a martini glass flashing bright green, and when the cab drives away, Zayn grabs him by the arm and leads him to the entrance.

Inside is warmer, and his ears are met with chatter and laughter and the clinking of bottles. There’s a jukebox pushed against the wall at the back playing a pop song from the nineties and Harry lets Zayn lead him to the bar.

“Two rum and cokes please, on the rocks,” Zayn tells the bartender, holding up two fingers, and Harry sits down and swivels his chair to look at the collection of bottles lining the wall behind the counter. He’s never been that much of a drinker, really, only drinks to indulge Zayn because he drinks alcohol like it’s water and it’s a miracle, really, that his liver hasn’t failed yet, and he’s always wondered where he puts it all because he’s always up the next day like he slept for a hundred years, whereas Harry takes one small sip and wakes up with a hangover that lasts for three days. He thinks it’s unfair but he’s stopped thinking about it because there’s lots of weird things about Zayn that he’d rather not know if he can help it.

“Can’t wait for the fucking weekend, man,” Zayn says, grabbing the glasses and sliding one over to Harry. Harry takes it and gives him a nod. “Feel like I’ve been sleeping two hours for the past week. I feel like _death_.”

Harry smiles and takes a sip, crinkling his nose at the taste. He’s not very fond of soda as well, but it’s Zayn’s favorite drink and he likes it when they’re drinking the same thing, so he sucks it up and ignores the burning sensation searing his throat and looks at Zayn down the whole thing in one toss.

“You should really take it easy on the booze, mate,” Harry says, taking another sip. “Once your liver’s fucked, there’s no going back.”

“That’s a chance I’m willing take,” Zayn says, asking for one more glass, and Harry shakes his head and looks around the place, trying to see if he can recognize any familiar faces. It’s fairly busy, people walking with drinks in hand, talking animatedly to each other, some making complete fools out of themselves but Harry’s used to it, enjoys watching Zayn make a fool of himself all the time, even when he’s _not_ drunk, and at this point in his life, it’s hard to distinguish the line separating sober and completely shitfaced, blurring together into one bouncy twenty-something year-old who thinks he’s still in his teens.

“Why are you always bringing me here?” Harry asks, swirling the red straw around the ice cubes and watching Zayn order one more glass. “It’s always boring.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to have _fun_ , you sourpuss,” Zayn says, and he’s on his way, Harry thinks, his words starting to slur. “Look at everyone here, they’re having the time of their lives!”

Zayn gestures dramatically around the room and a few people look up to watch him before going back to their conversations with a laugh. Harry shakes his head.

“They look like they’re about to kill themselves,” Harry says, resting his elbow on the counter and propping his cheek on his hand. “Like I’m about to.”

“Oh, lighten up, you miserable tree stump,” Zayn says, drinking his fifth glass, and he pushes Harry’s glass against his elbow. “And drink up, that shit’s expensive.”

“Fine,” Harry said, taking a breath and emptying out his glass in one go. He slams it back on the bar and grimaces, the taste getting worse every time he drinks it, and slides it over to Zayn, who looks at him with an approving smile.

“There we go,” Zayn says, holding up two fingers and smacking Harry right on the shoulder. “ _Now_ , you’re ready to have fun.”

“Fuck, that hurt,” Harry says, rubbing his shoulder and punching Zayn square on the chest. Zayn nearly falls backward and he grabs the edge of the bar just in time, and Harry sticks out his tongue. Zayn repositions himself in his seat and looks at Harry through squinted eyes, a war initiated, and he grins before taking a swing at Harry. Harry leans back to avoid contact but he crashes into the person behind him, and he jumps on his feet with a start and faces the young man to apologize.

“So sorry, mate,” Harry says, eyes wide and head buzzing. “My friend’s being an idiot and it’s all his fault.”

He tosses his head over to Zayn, who’s drumming his hands on the counter with the music, and the young man laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s alright. No worries,” he says, and before he knows it, Harry finds himself staring.

He has blond hair that looks like sunshine and defied the laws of gravity, sticking up at the front like there’s a fan constantly blowing at his face but it looks good, Harry thinks, looks different. Interesting. He’s wearing a red collared shirt with the top buttoned, the fabric tight around his slim body, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat because _fuck_ , he’s really _attractive_.

“I’m—I’m Harry, by the way,” Harry says before he can stop them, shaking himself out of his stupor and holding out his hand. Sunshine looks at it for a moment before shifting his eyes back up to meet Harry’s, blue eyes getting brighter and brighter, and he grins and takes it in his own.

“Niall,” he says, and Harry says it under his breath, lets it roll of his tongue. _Niall_. “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

The handshake lingers for a second longer before Niall retracts his hand and Harry knows for sure that it’s not the alcohol making his face heat up, making his heart beat faster because Niall’s watching him with a smile and it’s like there’s fires being lit under his skin, right down his body, and he returns the smile as he makes his way back to his chair.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Harry asks just as Niall’s turning back to his friend sitting beside him, and Niall looks at him for a moment, considering, before grinning with a nod.

“Sure. Why not?”

Harry can’t help but smile.  


  


-

  


Harry multitasks between fumbling with his keys and keeping Niall’s mouth firmly closed against his and he lets a grin break out when he drops them, clinking loudly down the narrow hallway and Niall breaks the kiss to laugh, and Harry takes this chance to pick them up and open the door behind him.

He doesn’t know how it started, really, comes to him in flashes but Niall doesn’t let him piece them together because in a moment, he’s pressing his body hard against Harry’s, smooth hands finding their way under his shirt and scoping out every inch of his skin before taking them out and coiling them around Harry’s neck, and Harry throws the keys somewhere on the floor and pushes against Niall until they’re falling on the sofa, a laugh interrupting their kiss, and all Harry can think of is how this is _really fucking happening_ and how good Niall feels writhing beneath him.

Harry all but rips his shirt from his body and Niall goes to work on his belt, tugging it loose and flinging it across the room before focusing his attention on his zip, and Harry closes his eyes and grips Niall’s shoulder when he feels him pull it out, thin, long fingers tugging and squeezing hard and he can’t help but let a moan escape when Niall takes him in his mouth, deeper and deeper and _deeper_ until he can feel his nose tickling the skin under his navel. Niall comes up for breath and Harry looks down at him with his breaths coming in fast and ragged, watching the indecency flashing in his baby blue eyes, and he leans down and places a kiss on his lips before lifting off his shirt and tossing it on the floor.

It all becomes a blur after that, Niall getting on his knees at one point and Harry tasting the sweat rolling down his stomach and soon enough, he’s lifting Niall and making his way to the bedroom, Niall hanging on like his life depends on it, nails digging into Harry’s back but it doesn’t hurt, can’t really feel it because this all feels so fucking _good_ and _right_ and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, felt like his heart’s about to burst out of his ribcage, felt like his entire body’s burning like it’s made of coals, scorching him down to his bones.

He falls on top of Niall on the bed and Niall presses his body up against him, trailing deep, desperate kisses down his neck and shoulders like he wants to melt into Harry’s skin and Harry can’t take it anymore, can’t wait any longer and he looks right in Niall’s eyes as he lifts his legs and positions himself between his thighs, feeling the scratch of tiny hairs on his shoulder as he shifts forward, and when Niall jerks his head with the tiniest of nods and closes his eyes, Harry doesn’t hesitate and pushes in.

Niall screams in ecstasy and it floods his ears, coiling tight around his brain like his pale, freckled arms around his neck and the feeling builds up in his stomach and he’s close, he’s _really_ close, and Niall’s biting his bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood and Harry gets his bearings just in time for him to pull out and, gripping himself hard, he shoots on Niall’s stomach with a strangled cry.  


  


-

  


Harry should be used to it by now, he thinks, because it’s not like he’s never drank before and yeah, maybe he’s a real lightweight when it comes to alcohol but he reckons he can’t be _that_ terrible with drinking and hanging around Zayn all the time should have given his body the ability to increase his tolerance through osmosis or something, but when he opens his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the break in his curtains, he feels the pounding headache almost immediately, like there’s something drilling at the back of his skull, and he blinks a few times before groaning and pulling his pillow over his head because goddammit, it’s the fucking _weekend_ and he’ll sleep in for the entire two days if he wants to.

His attempt to go back to sleep comes to a screeching halt, however, when he feels something stirring next to him.

His eyes open a crack and he lies still for a moment, debating whether he’d imagined the movement or not, before slowly sliding the pillow from his head and looking through his matted hair at the person lying next to him, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, still dreaming. It takes him a moment to register the blond hair sticking to the pillow but when he does, he hears his laugh ringing loud and clear in his ears, and he listens to his slow, deep breaths as he replays his name in his head.

 _Niall_.

Harry’s not quite sure what to think, actually, because this is the first time anyone’s ever slept over, and he lets out a yawn while he tries to figure out why Niall decided to stay.

The protocol’s always been clear when it comes to prostitutes and one night stands, at least in Harry’s mind, and he’s not really the type to let anyone stay overnight—hell, he doesn’t even let _Zayn_ stay in his flat after eleven. It’s always just grab-and-go with him because it leaves no room for responsibilities, and he can find a hundred million things better to do than play babysitter because the other person doesn’t know how the whole system works. He decides he can’t let Niall stay because he’s had a long week and he desperately needs his rest, and he’d rather not be disturbed when he tries to go back to sleep again.

He reaches a hand over to wake Niall up but he stops in mid-motion when Niall shifts on the bed and wriggles deeper underneath the covers, and Harry takes a moment to consider before retracting his hand and staring.

Up this close, he traces out Niall’s skin, marked by a few acne scars and freckles but smooth all over, with stubble beginning to outline his jaws. He’s pale, like he’d never been under the sun in his life, and Harry can just see the dark roots on his hair where the dye ends, and he thinks about what Niall would look like with brown hair.

He doesn’t dwell on it for long, though, because the next moment, Niall’s stretching his arms in the air and blinking his eyes open, a yawn pushing out of his throat. He smacks his lips together a few times before rubbing his eyes and rolling on his side, and when his eyes meet Harry’s, he breaks out into a smile.

“Hey,” he says, voice raspy.

Harry smiles back. “Hey.”

“Sorry I slept over,” Niall says, lying on his back and stretching his arms in the air again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says with a laugh, and Niall turns back to him with those bright blue eyes and suddenly, his heart is picking up speed, following the pounding in his head, and he takes a deep breath before pushing himself up on his elbows and cracking his neck, wondering whether the alcohol hadn’t completely left his system just yet.

“How about I cook you breakfast?” Niall offers out of nowhere, and Harry looks at him with furrowed brows, watching his smile getting wider as he pushes himself up to sit against the headboard and sliding the covers halfway down his stomach. “I can cook a little. It’s the least I can do.”

Harry grins and swings his legs down the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress tight as he tries to focus his blurring eyes on his toes.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“No, I insist,” Niall says, and when Harry turns to look at him over his shoulder, he’s already on his feet, scratching his stomach. “Do you have bacon?”

Harry laughs and gets on his feet as well, taking a moment to steady himself.

In normal circumstances, Harry would probably have said no and sent Niall on his merry way because he doesn’t really like it when people overstay their welcome, especially when Harry never offered to let them stay over, but there’s something about Niall that makes him want to reconsider the idea—just this time, at least, because for some reason, he can’t bring himself to say no to Niall’s smile, and once he manages to find the proper footing to stabilize himself, he turns to face Niall.

“Yeah, there’s some in the fridge,” he says, and Niall pumps his fist with a soft _“yes!”_ before grinning at Harry and making his way out the door.

Harry lets his gaze linger after Niall disappears around the corner and scratches his head again, wondering if it’s the right thing to do, but then he hears sizzling from the kitchen and he sees Niall smiling in the back of his mind, and fuck it, he’s hungry as hell and, really, one breakfast can’t possibly hurt.  


  


-

  


To be honest, Harry’s never really been good when it comes to dates.

Sure, he’s been in a few and none of them ended up horribly or anything, but he’s never really been the dating type. It’s not because he’s antisocial or weird or anything like that, but dates are always awkward, he thinks, because it’s difficult to find a common interest when he’s only met the person for a few minutes, hard to keep coming up with new topics just to get the conversation going and it’s exhausting sometimes, like trying to catch his breath at a marathon but he can’t because he still has a few yards to go and everyone’s already speeding past him, and really, he’d rather not deal with all the stress and just sit home and enjoy a movie while eating leftovers in the fridge.

But with Niall, it’s different.

When he asked Harry out to go to this restaurant near his place over breakfast, Harry was almost sure he was going to say _“no, thank you”_ because that’s what he usually says in this type of situation, his safety net when he doesn’t feel like committing, but his mind had other plans and before he could think about what he’s going to say, he’s already telling Niall that _“sure, I’d like that”_ and in a second, Niall’s lips were stretching from ear to ear, a glint of joy flashing behind his blue eyes, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Niall’s real fascinating, he thinks, not just because he can eat his way out of a pickup truck, and really, as Harry eats his pasta at a modest pace, he starts to wonder how on earth Niall could be so _skinny_ after he orders a second plate of rib-eye steak, but because he seems to be genuinely interested in Harry, and it baffles him. He’s never really met anyone who gave two shits about his favorite movies or what he watched on the television a few days ago or how he gets his hair so curly (though Zayn doesn’t really count because he’s interested in _everyone_ like he’s watching a private soap opera except he doesn’t have to pay for the monthly bill), and it was a very interesting experience when they started to share random trivia about each other like it’s every day conversation over a cup of tea, like how Harry has a star tattoo under his arm that he got from a friend when he turned sixteen and how Niall thinks rabbits are pointless because they don’t really do anything beneficial to society.

Time flies faster than Harry can keep track and when he looks down at his watch after Niall excuses himself to the bathroom, he realizes they’ve been talking for a little over two hours, and he has to raise an eyebrow because he didn’t know he had so much to say in the first place, always so used to giving one-sentence responses when someone would ask him how his day is. Then again, he didn’t really know how the date would go himself, just sort of let fate handle the course like he’s always done with everything else and it’s a nice surprise, he thinks, a nice break from the monotony of lazy weekends, and he decides that maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s starting to like Niall.

Niall comes back to the table wearing his smile like it’s permanently etched on his face and Harry watches him take his seat with a grin, watches him pick up his knife and fork without missing a beat and moving his chair closer to the table in one quick motion. Niall cuts into his steak and lifts his eyes up to look at Harry, and Harry gives a start like he’s been caught doing something he’s not supposed to and he sits up straight, picking up the napkin next to his glass and wiping down the rim of his plate, not really knowing what to do with his hands.

“Something on my face?” Niall asks with a chuckle and Harry shakes his head and picks up his fork.

“No, no, you’re good,” Harry replies, face getting warmer, and he takes a small bite of his pasta to distract himself from his heartbeat. Niall grins and stuffs the piece of steak in his mouth.

“Well, you’ve got something on your—” Niall begins as he chews, finger tapping at the corner of his lips, and Harry picks up his napkin and wipes the stain off with a laugh, marveling at how comfortable he feels with someone he’s only met the night before like they’ve known each other their entire lives. He reckons it’s probably just Niall’s sunny disposition putting him at ease, with the smiling and laughing and telling jokes any chance he can get, but there’s a part of him that thinks it might be something else, something that he can’t quite put his finger on but he knows it’s good because he finds himself holding back his laughter when a piece of steak falls out from Niall’s fork and tumbles on the table down to the floor, and he drowns his laughs with the back of his hand when Niall looks at it in horror like he’s just broken a particularly expensive piece of furniture.

“It’s not funny!” Niall says, reaching across the table and smacking Harry lightly on the shoulder. “This is the most depressing thing that’s ever happened in my life.”

Harry washes down the last bits of laughter with water, his heart running a hundred miles an hour, and when Niall sees how red Harry’s face is, it’s his turn to laugh.

“Karma’s going to bite you in the arse, just you wait,” Niall adds with a smile, and Harry just shrugs and finishes the rest of his pasta.

The check comes a few minutes later and Niall insists on paying, but Harry takes the booklet in a flash before Niall could pull out his wallet and sticks his credit card inside, snapping it shut and holding it out of Niall’s reach.

“Come on, let me,” Niall says, standing up and making a grab for the booklet, but Harry shakes his head and hides it under the table.

“No, _I’m_ paying, alright?” Harry says, and after trying one more time to grab the bill, Niall finally drops his shoulders in defeat and sits back down, crossing his arms over his chest like a kid who’s just lost a match, but his smile betrays his face and when the waiter comes over and picks up the booklet, Niall uncoils his arms and rests hands behind his head as he leans back in his seat, watching Harry with a satisfied look.

“If I’d known you were going to pay, I would have ordered another plate,” Niall says, patting his stomach with a grin and Harry laughs, still not getting over how Niall looks exactly as he did two hefty servings of steaks and mashed potatoes ago.  


  


-

  


“This was really fun,” Niall says when they push through the doors of the restaurant, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking at Harry with a small smile.

“I—er—I had fun, too,” Harry says with a nod, shifting his eyes down to his trainers because he can feel his face heating up again despite the cool weather, and he tightens his jacket around him when he feels a cold wind brush past them.

“Told you it’d be fun, didn’t I?” Niall says matter-of-factly, and Harry looks up just in time to see him stuff his hand in his pocket to dig something out. Harry’s eyes follow his fingers as they emerge from the fabric with a folded piece of paper, and Niall moves forward and holds it out.

Harry’s not really sure what it’s for, but he slips it out of Niall’s fingers and opens it, and he traces out seven digits in blue ink. He shifts his attention back to Niall, who’s scratching the back of his head with a small smile.

“It’s my number,” Niall says, gesturing to the paper with a shrug. “I meant to give it to you before we left this morning but I forgot.”

Harry smiles and looks at the numbers again, following the neat penmanship, and he starts to feel a swelling in his chest, pushing out against his skin and squeezing his heart until he can hear every beat in his ears.

“If you want to hang out or talk or anything,” Niall continues, moving his eyes to the pavement and balancing himself on the balls of his feet, nerves almost tangible, “just give me a ring, yeah?”

Harry’s not quite sure what to feel, really, doesn’t really know how to react to this sort of thing because it’s never come to this point most of the time, never ended up with lunch dates or the exchange of numbers because they’d usually be out of his flat when he wakes up the next morning, and maybe he’s been a bit rusty at these things, quite detached because all he worries about lately is getting off and meeting his deadlines at work and there hadn’t been much room for anything else, really, especially nothing like this. But it’s an odd feeling, though. Not a particularly bad one, mind you, but still quite peculiar.

“Sure,” Harry replies, grinning now and sliding the paper in his pocket, deciding to take the chance with this one. “I’ll do that.”

Niall looks up and returns his grin, flashing brighter than the morning sun, and there’s that feeling in Harry’s chest again, getting bigger and bigger and stretching down to the pit of his stomach, and when Niall makes a step forward and places a kiss on the corner of his lips, his heart stops for a second and a jolt runs through his body, right down to his toes.

“I’ll—er—I’ll just see you later, then,” Niall says, stepping backward and sliding his hands in his pockets with a nod. “Have a nice day, Harry.”

Harry blinks himself out of his stupor and taps the paper through his trousers with a smile, the feeling of Niall’s lips still burning on his skin

“You too, Niall.”  


  


-

  


Harry closes the door behind him and throws his briefcase on the sofa, cracking his neck with a deep sigh and feeling like there’s something heavy sitting on his shoulders.

The big talk of the day was the emergence of a virus in the company’s main hard drive, spreading through everyone’s computer stations like wildfire and deleting a few important files from Harry’s folders. There were many speculations as to what caused the virus; some say the firewall wasn’t installed correctly or that a few of the antivirus programs couldn’t recognize and stop it in time before it spread across the building, but the damage was done and Harry had spent the entire day walking around trying to figure out what’s going on and running over to the electronic store to buy external hard drives to back up everything important in his files before they were deleted as well, and he had to re-type a few reports and statistics on top of everything and by the end of the day, he could feel his head going numb from seeing countless numbers and graphs flashing non-stop on his screen.

He tugs off his scarf and slides his jacket off before turning on his laptop on the kitchen table and sitting on the chair, watching the screen boot up with eyes glazed over from fatigue but he needs this right now, needs to forget that he’s exhausted because he has to get up very early tomorrow.

As his desktop flashes on the screen, he unbuttons his shirt and slides it off, leaving it on the floor as he goes to undo his belt, and with his free hand, he opens a browser and he types in the new website he found a few days ago. He drops his belt on the floor next to his shirt and tugs down his zipper, finger skating the trackpad and hovering over the different categories, biting his bottom lip as he tries to figure out what he’s in the mood for. He clicks on “Blowjobs” and watches a mass of thumbnails flicker to life, and he pulls down his trousers along with his underwear and kicks them under the table. He slides his hands along his leg and up his thigh, feeling the hairs tickle his palm as he makes his way to his waist up to his chest, and he starts to rub himself when he clicks on a video down at the very bottom.

The player shows a young man with blond hair with his face inches away from the camera, smiling broadly at the man on the other side and saying something in another language. The image pans out after a few seconds and Harry slides his hands down to his stomach when blondie takes the man in his thin fingers and begins to tug at it, eyes glinting as he laughs at what the other man says. Soon, Harry’s leaning forward, watching the way blondie bobs his head up and down furiously, the moans of the cameraman blaring out deep and rough, and Harry picks up the pace, trying to match blondie’s rhythm and imagining his lips around him.

He slows to a stop, however, when blondie comes up for a breath and his eyes wander over to a piece of paper stuck under the saltshaker in the middle of the table, still folded. He pauses the video and reaches over to grab it, and, reading the blue numbers again, Niall’s face flashes in the back of his head, his laugh ringing in his ears, and his heart starts to race for a different reason, faster than it had been a moment ago.

He crumples the paper in his hand and leans back in his chair, closing his eyes and trying to clear his head. He tries to think about blondie’s mouth around him, wondering what his mouth feels like and how much he’d enjoy it if he could have him for a few hours. It doesn’t work, though, because he starts to think about that day in the restaurant, where the twinkle in Niall’s eyes when he laughed was more than enough reason to keep on staring and it’s _crazy_ , he thinks, absolutely mental because he’s only spent a few hours with Niall and he’s already deep under his skin and he wonders what makes Niall so _special_.

He opens his eyes and sees blondie frozen on the computer screen, eyes looking straight at the camera with his mouth wide open, staring right at Harry, and he sighs and closes the laptop, the feeling in his chest returning again.

He stands up and scratches his head, growing anxious, trying to figure out what to do. He debates for a moment, walking around the living room and sitting on the sofa, before he stops pretending he hasn’t already made his decision, and he reaches over to grab his jacket from the floor and fishes out his mobile from the pocket. He unfolds the paper and types in the number, his heart picking up and his face getting hotter, and he takes a breath before he pressing the mobile against his ear and listening to the ring.

There’s a part of him that hopes Niall won’t answer because he doesn’t really know what to say, especially because it’s been about a week since the last time they’d seen each other and he’s always been shitty when it comes to keeping promises, but then there’s another part that wants to hear Niall’s voice, hear his laugh, like there’s an inexplicable hunger gnawing at his stomach, spreading all around his body, and he grips the mobile tight as he tries to steady his heartbeat, trying to decide which outcome he’d rather have.

He doesn’t dwell on it for long because Niall’s answers after the fifth ring, giving him a start, and he feels his palms starting to sweat and a lump forming in his throat.

_“Hello?”_

Harry bites his bottom lip, mind working furiously for something to say.

_“Is anyone there? Hello?”_

His mind comes up blank and he closes his eyes, flames flaring up under his skin.

_“Harry, is this you?”_

Harry opens his eyes and his heart skips a beat at his name. There’s an image of Niall grinning at him from across the table, eyes crystal blue, bright and happy.

_“Harry?”_

Harry holds his breath and clicks his mobile off, heart and mind going faster than a bullet train, and he drops it on the sofa and sinks back in his seat, eyes plastered on the wall opposite him, trying to figure out if he’d just made a mistake.  


  


-

  


Harry picks up his briefcase from the seat next to him and pays the cab driver before pushing out the door and breathing in the cold morning air, ready to get the day done and over with.

He couldn’t sleep very well the night before, spending most of his time looking at the ceiling and watching beams of light shine through his curtains as cars drove past, trying to get Niall’s voice out of his head.

He’s not entirely sure why he couldn’t answer Niall when he picked—why he _called_ in the first place even more, and sure, it’s been a while since they’d spoken to each other but it really shouldn’t be affecting him this much, how it feels like Niall’s constantly creeping inside his body and curling inside his chest, coiling around his heart like he wants to bore a hole and crawl deep inside. There’s something about Niall that _sticks_ , more than anything should, really, and it’s a wonder how all of this stemmed from a few hours spent with the man when none of his other conquests have birthed anything other than a few bills missing from his wallet or an attempt to get his number for another round in his bed.

He’d decided then that pursuing Niall was a bad idea.

He tightens his jacket around him as he looks around, watching people getting in and out of the cafes and restaurants lining the street, and it’s then that he hears his stomach growling. Lack of sleep made him forget to cook breakfast but he reckons he can let someone else do it for him for a change, and stuffing his free hand in his jacket pocket, he looks both directions before running across the street and making his way to the café on the far end of the sidewalk.

He hears the distant tinkling of a bell and he sighs in relief, feeling the warm air wrapping around him as he listens to the idle chatter of patrons scattered across the place.

He walks up to the counter and picks out his order from the blackboard behind the cashier, and in a few minutes, he finds himself sitting in a table next to the window with a warm ham and cheese croissant and a hot cup of coffee steaming underneath his chin. He takes a few bites and watches cars rushing past him, people walking by on their mobiles, others running, late for work, perhaps, and he takes a sip of his coffee before turning to the couple sitting on the table beside him. 

The woman has short-cropped blonde hair and pale skin, and she looks at the man sitting across from her with bright blue eyes, a smile stretching her lips as he tells her something Harry can’t quite make out, and all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s looking right at Niall, having taken her spot in a flash, laughing at the man’s joke as he stirs his coffee, and before he knows it, he finds himself staring.

He traces out the bridge of his nose, the faint lines around his eyes, and he’s not really sure what’s happening but he can’t stop himself, can’t make himself look away, and it’s only when he blinks that he realizes that Niall was never there, it’s always been the woman sitting where he was just a moment ago.

He shifts his eyes over to the man and sees him looking back with a puzzled expression, like Harry had just done something out of the ordinary, and he feels his heart starting to race.

“Got a problem, mate?” the man asks him, eyebrow raised and motioning to get up, and Harry’s taken aback by the question, wondering what it was he did. He looks over at the woman and sees her shifting uncomfortably in her seat, like something’s crawling in her skin, and it doesn’t take long for Harry to realize what he’d been doing.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Harry begins, face heating up, but he stops when the man stands up and he sees the woman grab his arm in an effort to calm him down. It doesn’t work, though, and Harry knows he’s beyond reason at this point and he decides it’s better to drop his excuse and leave the place, so he collects his breakfast and utters a quick _“sorry”_ before walking across the cafe and pushing through the doors.

He stands outside for a few moments, trying to calm his breathing and wondering how in the world he put himself in that situation this early in the morning. 

He takes it as a sign, convincing himself that Niall will only lead to trouble and he has better things to do than sit around thinking about some guy he met for a few hours who decided to overstay his welcome, like going to work. He looks at his watch and sees he still has a few minutes before he needs to punch in, but he’s already lost his appetite and the coffee’s already turning cold, so he walks over to the trash can next to the entrance and throws them away.  


  


-

  


Harry bites his bottom lip to stop himself from making too much noise but he’s getting there, getting very close, and he grabs the top of the stall wall to steady himself, huffing through his nose and drowning out his moans because it feels so fucking _good_ and he squeezes his eyes shut, imagining lips wrapped around him, taking him fast and deep and tight and _fuck_ he’s almost there, almost there, the grip on the stall getting stronger until his knuckles are turning white and his knees are bucking out from under him, the sensation taking over his body and he heaves a loud grunt as he shoots in the toilet, the streams collecting in the water at the bottom, and he holds himself for a second to catch his breath, squeezing out the last bits before bringing the remnants to his mouth and licking them off his finger.

He pulls off a few pieces of toilet paper and cleans himself up before flushing and walking out of the stall. He runs his hands under the tap and looks at himself in the mirror, watching the redness of his cheeks and the dark lines under his eyes. Sleep’s coming easier but not completely, fragments of Niall’s smile still finding their way in the back of his mind and he’s tired, tired of thinking, tired of feeling like there’s a part of him missing when there’s nothing there to fill. He sighs and brings his face down to the sink, washing it over with cold water before ripping of a few paper towels and drying himself up.

Outside the men’s room, Zayn’s chatting up with an intern from the sales deparment, a young woman with hair an odd shade of purple, and Harry has to shake his head because Zayn’s always been into peculiar things, thinks embracing things that are out of the ordinary makes him more universal or something and Harry decides to just accept it because at this point in their relationship, there’s really no point in questioning anything Zayn does.

“Been there an awful long time,” Zayn says after saying goodbye to the intern, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and wiggling his eyebrows like Harry’s supposed to know what it means. Harry just looks at him like he’s speaking another language.

“And?” Harry finally asks after Zayn doesn’t bother to elaborate, and Zayn grins at him with a shrug.

“You weren’t doing—you _know_ —were you?” he asks, tipping his head closer to Harry and Harry immediately realizes where he’s going with this, and he sighs and shakes his head, making his way past Zayn with a roll of his eyes.

“Fuck off, Malik,” Harry says, not really feeling up to fooling around, and he hears Zayn laugh, followed by footsteps close behind him.

“Oh, come on, Haz, I was only _joking_ ,” Zayn says giddily, clapping Harry on the back. Harry shrugs his hand off and walks faster, just wanting to get to his cubicle without any more disturbance, but he feels Zayn’s arm sliding across his shoulders and he sighs again, wondering if Zayn’s even capable of taking a hint.

“What’s wrong, mate? Come on, you can tell me.”

Harry doesn’t answer until they get to his cubicle and Zayn looks at him earnestly, worry in his eyes, and Harry reckons he should appreciate his concern because they’re mates after all but sometimes, Zayn makes just everything more difficult with his roundabout way of expressing himself, acting more and more like a child with every year.

“I’m just tired, alright?” Harry replies, tone firm but not annoyed. “I’ve been trying to back everything up because of that fucking virus and it’s taking every last bit of my energy.”

Zayn nods, scratching his nose. “Yeah, I know how you feel. They’ve been trying to get me to figure out where it came from and it’s been a nightmare, honestly. It’s coming along, though.”

“Good. The sooner you figure this out, the sooner we can rest.”

“Could do with a little less pressure but I’ll take it.” Zayn grins and Harry finally indulges him with a smile. “You know what we need?”

Harry shrugs. “Alcohol?”

“Exactly,” Zayn says, tapping Harry’s nose with his finger. “Nothing a few rum and cokes can’t fix.”

Harry grins. Maybe getting shitfaced to hell and back isn’t such a bad idea.  


  


-

  


The night air is _freezing_ when Harry steps out of the cab and he’s thankful he packed his scarf in his suitcase, and after Zayn pays the driver and sends him off his way, he wraps it around his neck and follows Zayn onto the sidewalk, zipping up his jacket and trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Why does it have to be so fucking _cold_ tonight?” Zayn asks through gritted teeth, shuffling quickly towards the entrance to the bar, and Harry tries to keep up, tailing a few inches behind him, ignoring him because he’s much too cold to think of an answer.

They push through the doors and Harry rubs his finger under his nose, eyes moving over to the bar to see if there are seats they can take. Zayn beats him to the punch, however, and Harry feels his arm snaking around his shoulder and he leads him over to one of the seats in front of the counter, plopping him down and rubbing his hands together.

“Two rum and cokes please,” Zayn says without missing a beat, and he looks at Harry with a grin, cheeks flushed and eyes ringed with red.

He doesn’t really know why but Zayn’s always excited about alcohol no matter the situation, and really, if he’s running out of ideas for a birthday present, he can just stop by any liquor store nearby and get him a bottle of Hennessey and Zayn’ll thank him for the next three days like he’d just given him a Rolex or something fucking expensive. He reckons it’s none of his business if Zayn wanted to have himself a liver the size of Russia, but he’s always hoping that he’ll eventually grow out of his obsession with alcohol before he keels over.

The bartender slides over their drinks and Zayn raises up his glass, looking over at Harry with a sigh.

“To getting some fucking sleep tonight.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, always delighted by what comes out of Zayn’s mouth but he agrees with him for once, feeling that a bit of alcohol in the belly would warm him up and help him sleep tonight, and he smiles and taps their glasses together before downing the entire thing in one swig. His throat starts burning almost immediately but it’s a good feeling, the warmth spreading down to the ends of his fingers and before he can stop himself, he’s asking for another, and Zayn looks at him like a proud father and claps his shoulder like he’s about to say _“well done, son”_ and holds up two fingers to the bartender, who refills their glasses a second later.

His head starts to buzz but he’s quite a ways from getting drunk, which he doesn’t intend to do, really, because a hangover’s the last thing he needs with everything that’s going on and he’s pretty sure where his limits are and he makes a mental note not to cross it.

Zayn’s telling him something about the purple-haired intern, how she has a great rack or some other shit that he can’t really follow because his words are starting to slur when he decides to let his eyes wander around the place, nodding every now and then to pretend he’s still listening.

It’s not very packed, with only half the booths occupied and a few people already getting up from their seats to leave, but he reckons no one really comes for drinks on a Tuesday night unless they’re Zayn and he can’t blame them, really, especially with this freezing weather, and he goes back to Zayn just in time to catch his question about Niall.

“You never told me how it went,” Zayn continued, sipping his third rum and coke, and Harry looks at him with furrowed brows, not really sure why he decided to bring it up. Zayn watches him with curiosity, putting his glass down and leaning forward. Harry turns his head towards his drink and wipes the condensation with his thumb, pulse quickening at the name.

“It was fine,” Harry says after a while, taking a sip and wincing at the taste. He’s plenty warm now and the drink’s starting to taste like shit again. “Why?”

“No reason,” Zayn replies, sitting straight up and downing the rest of his drink, and Harry looks at him through squinted eyes, trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, but he doesn’t question it for long because he sees Zayn looking past him, raising his eyebrows and tipping his head forward, and Harry takes it as a signal to look behind him.

When he does, he feels his stomach drop at the sight of his blond hair sitting in a booth on the back laughing with another man, and at once, he feels flames licking their way under his skin and a heavy feeling creeping inside his chest.  


  


-

  


It might have been only a few minutes but it felt like an eternity when he finally decided to get up from where he was and walk across the place to where Niall’s sitting, busy half-listening to the man sitting in front of him and half-eating his plate of hot wings, and Harry hesitates for a moment because he’s not the type to interrupt meetings and he reckons it’d be rude if he just went ahead and said _“hey, Niall”_ in the middle of their conversation, and he’s about to turn around and pretend he never saw him when he hears his name cut through the muffled chatter, and when he turns his head, he finds himself staring into Niall’s blue eyes, opened wide as his smile.

“Harry!” he repeats, wiping his hands on his napkin and standing up, and Harry just sort of stands in the middle of the room like he’s lost, his heart starting to pound, and in a second, he feels Niall’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, pushing himself up on his tiptoes. Harry takes a moment to realize what’s happening and he returns the action reluctantly, the suddenness taking him a bit by surprise.

“N—Niall,” Harry manages after Niall steps back and looks at him from head to toe, smile never leaving his lips. “How—how’ve you been?”

“Been great,” Niall replies, balancing himself on the balls of his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets the way he does, and Harry has to smile because it’s almost like they’ve just seen each other the day before, the blue numbers on the piece of paper still fresh in his mind. “Just having dinner with my friend.”

He turns back to the man he’d been chatting with and Harry looks over and sees him waving a hand, and Harry awkwardly waves back before shifting his attention back to Niall looking at him earnestly.

“Great,” Harry says, his face beginning to flush. “I’m—er—I’m just grabbing a drink with my friend Zayn. You remember him, right?”

Harry tosses his head over to Zayn, who’s in the middle of a conversation with the bartender, and he hears Niall chuckle.

“How can I forget?” Niall says, grinning. “You guys paid for my drinks.”

It’s Harry’s turn to chuckle because he can’t really recall anything before taking Niall home, the whole thing only a blur in his mind, but he decides to go along with it because Niall’s looking at him like he’s real excited to see him, and at once, he regrets not replying when Niall answered his call.

“Listen,” he starts, dropping his eyes to his shoes and picking at the fabric inside his pocket. “I’m sorry for not saying anything when I called—”

“That _was_ you,” Niall cuts in, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “I thought it was a stalker or something. I almost called the police, you know.”

Harry rubs the area like he’s just been slugged and before he knows it, he’s grinning back, a lightness spreading inside his chest, almost like he’s about to float, and he scratches the back of his head, not really knowing what to do with his hands.

“Well, I’d hate to interrupt your date—” Harry begins, but Niall shakes his head with a laugh.

“He’s not my date,” he says, and Harry shifts his eyes back to the man, who’s gathering up his jacket and taking a last sip of his drink. “He was just about to leave anyway. I just wanted to finish my wings first.”

Harry smiles and watches as the man walks over to Niall to say goodbye, and he tips his head over to Harry before slipping on his jacket and walking out the door.

“We should catch up,” Niall says, pulling Harry’s attention back to him and Harry raises his brow, not entirely sure what he means, but he’s not given much of a choice because Niall grabs his hand in a flash and leads him to his booth, sitting him across the table. When Niall pushes the plate of chicken wings over to him, Harry glances over at Zayn and sees him tipping his glass in a silent toast, lips stretched into a broad grin, and Harry shakes his head with a laugh before turning back to Niall.

“So, how’ve you been?” Niall asks, reaching over to get a wing, and Harry bites his lip and sinks back in his seat, watching Niall eat his way around the bones in a matter of seconds.

“I’ve been great.”

Niall grins from ear to ear.  


  


-

  


They’re barely halfway through the door when Harry starts pulling at Niall’s shirt, popping one of the buttons off but it goes unnoticed on the floor as Harry carries him inside, mouth pressing hot kisses up and down his neck, nails digging into skin and breaths coming out hard and ragged. Niall clamps his legs around his waist and pulls on his curls, moaning into his ear as Harry moves closer to the sofa, where he lays Niall down carefully on the cushions before pulling his shirt up and over his head, and when he throws it on the floor, he feels Niall working on his pants, pulling off his belt in one quick motion before tugging down the zip and licking the sweat collecting on his stomach.

Soon, Niall’s on his back and Harry hovers over him, taking in the image of his blue eyes swimming with want and need and _fuck_ Harry _needs_ it, needs to be inside Niall, and it surprises him because he didn’t know just how much he’s been wanting this, wanting Niall writhing under him again and before he knows it, Niall’s wrapping his legs around him, pressing their bodies together and Harry can’t wait any more, and he holds himself steady as he slowly pushes in, taking extra care because Niall’s so fucking _tight_ and he’s forgotten how good he feels, how he just _fits_ and Niall bites back his moans, one hand gripping Harry’s hair tight and the other clutching at the skin on his back, eyes squeezed shut and breathing hard through his nose.

All of a sudden, he hears Niall laugh and in a moment, they’re back at the restaurant, Harry taking furtive glances at Niall as he works on his steak because he doesn’t want to feel like a creep staring at him throughout the whole meal, but he catches Niall’s eyes a few times and whenever he does, Niall just smiles at him, smiles at him like he’s really happy to be there and Harry can’t even begin to describe the feeling swelling up in his chest, and soon, they’re talking about the new show Niall watched the day before and Harry shows him the watch he’d bought himself with his first paycheck. Then, without warning, Niall’s face fades to gray and he sees Louis kneeling in front of him, hands gripping his waist tight as he takes him deep in his throat and those blue eyes are looking up at him, each vein filled with lust and desire and Harry tries to look away because this isn’t right, this isn’t what he wants to see, doesn’t want to feel Louis’s mouth around him, but when he looks down, Louis isn’t there anymore, just him holding himself beneath his desk, and he looks forward and sees a video playing on his screen of a man pressed up against a wall, hands behind his back as another man thrusts in and out of him hard and fast, the slapping of flesh and deep, guttural moaning filling his ears, and he shuts his eyes, trying to erase the image, trying to remember where he is and what he’s doing, and it’s then that he hears Niall’s voice cutting through the chaos, clear as bells, and he opens his eyes and looks down to see Niall watching him with furrowed brows, concern etched in face.

“Harry, are you alright?” Niall asks, sliding himself up against the armrest and cupping Harry’s face, and Harry takes a moment to realize what’s going on, his heart beating wildly in his chest and sweat running down his temples.

“What?” Harry asks, and his eyes take a second to adjust and he looks at Niall in confusion, wondering what the fuck just happened.

“You just stopped right in the middle,” Niall says, and Harry looks down and realizes that he’s gone soft. He feels his stomach drop and he goes back to Niall with shame written all over his face, like he’s done something he shouldn’t have and he slides his legs off the edge of the sofa and buries his face in his hands, taking deep breaths to calm his heartbeat.

“Harry,” Niall whispers, and he feels a hand rubbing circles on his back, another gripping his shoulder tight and he’s not entirely sure what happened, why he’s feeling like he’s just been hit with a sledgehammer in his chest. “Don’t worry, Harry. It’s okay.”

Harry shakes his head at him because he doesn’t understand, and he shrugs off Niall’s hands and stands up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, it’s not. It’s _not_ okay,” Harry says through gritted teeth, feeling heavier and heavier as the seconds tick past. He hears the springs of the sofa creak and he feels Niall’s hands on his shoulders again, long fingers rubbing his skin softly but all it does is make him feel worse, and he takes a few steps forward and faces him, his eyes starting to sting.

“I’ve got a _problem_ , Niall, can’t you see?” Harry protests, and Niall steps back with a start.

“It—it happens, Harry, it’s _okay_ ,” Niall assures him. “It’s perfectly normal. There’s _nothing_ wrong with you.”

Harry shakes his head and turns around, biting his bottom lip. He makes his way to the kitchen and sits down on a chair, resting his elbows on the table and cupping his face.

“You don’t understand,” Harry says, voice muffled, and he hears footsteps behind him the next second, but he doesn’t lift his head up because he doesn’t want to see the look on Niall’s face, doesn’t need it, doesn’t need his _pity_.

“Just tell me what’s wrong, Harry, and I’ll fix it,” Niall says, and when he feels his hand on his back, Harry jerks his body away like Niall’s made of fire.

“Please, just leave,” Harry says simply, a deep sigh pushing out of his chest. “ _Please_.”

It feels like an eternity before Niall replies with a soft _“alright”_ and the next moment, Harry hears the shuffling of fabric behind him, belt metal clinking on the floor, and when the sounds stop, they’re replaced by footsteps, slow and hesitant, like Niall doesn’t want to leave, but then he hears the door opening and it’s only then that he looks up from his hands, wetness clinging around his eyes. He hears the door close a second later and he turns to look over his shoulder, looking around at his empty flat with a heavy sigh, and it feels like he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life.  


  


-

  


When Harry wakes up the next morning, he’s tired. Not physically tired, no, but it’s like something heavy had run over his chest again and again until it’s painful to breathe, and he lays in bed for a few minutes looking at the ceiling and thinking about what happened the night before.

It wasn’t Niall’s fault, he knows that, knows it in his heart because it’s his problem, it’s _always_ been his problem and Niall’s just unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire and he feels guilty, feels his chest threatening to collapse under itself at the sight of Niall with those sympathetic eyes and it’s the last thing he needs, really, a confirmation that maybe he really _is_ a bit fucked up in the head and it’s all his fault and maybe Niall shouldn’t have concerned himself with him, should have just left him alone because it just complicates things and Harry’s never been good with sentimental things, feels that he’s not sensitive or willing enough to hold something so fragile in his fingers without the risk of shattering it into a million little pieces.

He tears his eyes away and rolls over on his side, watching a bird fly across the window and he sighs, not really feeling up to going to work and he’s debating whether to call Zayn and tell him he’s not planning on coming today when he hears his mobile ring somewhere on the floor.

With a groan, he pushes himself up and rubs his eyes, a yawn pushing out of his throat, and he swings his legs on the edge of the bed and cracks his neck, ears trying to home in on the muffled sound before realizing it’s coming from the living room. He gets on his feet and scratches the back of his head, sleep still clinging in his eyes and feeling slightly dizzy, and he ambles over to the sofa and picks up his mobile on the cushion, seeing Zayn’s name in big letters on the screen.

“What?” Harry answers, voice slightly hoarse, sitting himself down on the sofa and pinching the space between his eyes.

_“I—I thought I should call you first before I bring this up to the boss. When are you getting here?”_

Harry furrows his brows and sits up, his pulse starting to quicken.

Zayn’s never been the urgent type of guy when it comes to normal circumstances, just always gone with the flow because he’s young and beautiful and Harry likes not being stressed out by him, likes how he’d never set a deadline because he knows Harry would get whatever it is done on time and Harry’s never really seen him get serious that often, so when he hears his voice adopting a tone of urgency, Harry can’t help but think that something’s gone seriously wrong.

“What’s happened?” Harry asks, standing up and making his way back to his room.

 _“It’s about the virus,”_ Zayn replies, voice getting softer until it’s only above a whisper, and confusion wrinkles Harry’s forehead. _“Look, just get here as soon as you can, okay?”_

“Just tell me—” Harry begins, but he hears the dial tone on the other end and he looks at his mobile screen, sighing when he sees he’s been disconnected.

Pulling himself together as best he can, he throws the mobile on the bed and walks over to the bathroom, turning on the shower and trying to figure out what in the world Zayn’s talking about.  


  


-

  


The moment he steps foot outside of the elevator, Zayn’s already waiting for him, and before he can open his mouth to ask what in the bloody hell is going on, Zayn presses his hand flat on his back and leads him behind the conference room without uttering a single word.

“Can you _please_ just tell me what’s happened?” Harry finally asks after waiting for Zayn to say something, and Zayn looks all around them, trying to see if they’re alone. He sighs after a moment and places his hands on his waist, tapping his foot on the floor like he’s deciding whether to tell Harry or not. Harry’s too tired to play games, too tired to try and figure out what’s going on in his mind and he opens his mouth to tell Zayn to get to the point, but Zayn cuts him off before he can spout off the first syllable.

“Alright,” Zayn says, walking closer, and Harry looks at him warily, brows knitted, confused still. “I’d been digging around trying to find the source of the virus, right?”

“Yeah?” Harry says, urging him to go on.

“Well—erm—I was tracing the progress of the virus to locate the point of origin and after running a few tests, I discovered that the source came from _your_ computer.”

Harry’s eyes widen and his heart begins to hammer, sweat starting to collect on his forehead. There’s a line creasing the space between Zayn’s eyebrows and Harry’s mind is going a hundred miles, trying to remember everything he’d downloaded, every program, every file he’d saved on his hard drive and it doesn’t take him long to realize how a virus could have infiltrated his computer.

His pornography.

“Listen, mate,” Zayn says, dipping his head close to Harry and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve known you for _years_ and I really, really like you and I’m not judging you or anything, but _come on_. You of all people should know better.”

Harry sighs and shrugs off Zayn’s hand, shifting his eyes down to his trainers to avoid Zayn’s gaze.

“I don’t need a lecture,” Harry says, turning to leave because he’s embarrassed enough that his best mate knows about the pornography in his work computer and the last thing he needs is to be lectured like a child, but Zayn sticks his arm out to block his path and he looks at him, flames coursing in his veins, lighting under his skin.

“I’m not giving you a lecture, Harry,” Zayn says with a chuckle, eyebrows slanted to show he means no harm. “I’m just _worried_ about you. I don’t care that you caused the virus. I can cover your tracks and clean the system without any problem. I mean, just—You’re a handsome fucking lad and you don’t need all that smut. I don’t want to tell you how to live your life and that’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m not your mum. I just—I’ve seen the way you are with Niall, and I like it when you’re happy.”

Harry looks at him, dumbstruck because he’s never really seen this side of Zayn before and he doesn’t really know how to feel about it, can’t really feel anything because his heartbeat’s pounding too hard in his chest. Just when he thought he’d unraveled the enigma surrounding Zayn, more walls come shooting up, thicker and higher than the rest, and he wonders if he’ll ever break them down and see the Zayn hiding in the center.

“I’ve deleted all of the porn in your computer and I’ll—er—I’ll just keep this between us, okay?” Zayn says, a smile stretching his lips, and before Harry can open his mouth to reply, Zayn sticks his hands in his pocket and walks away, whistling to himself as he makes his way back to his cubicle.  


  


-

  


Harry opens the door and smiles when he sees Louis standing in front of him, hair shorter than it had been the last time they’d seen each other. He’s wearing a collared shirt with the top buttoned, too tight against his body just like all his other clothes, and form-fitting jeans, the hem ending just above his ankle and ripped at parts, and he looks at Harry with a smile of his own, crinkles forming by his eyes.

“Long time no see,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his fringe and Harry chuckles before turning sideways and motioning for him to go inside. Louis moves past him with his hands in his pockets and Harry closes the door, eyes following Louis as he stands in the middle of the living room.

“You look great,” Harry says, sliding his hand in his back pocket to take out his wallet, and Louis shrugs with a grin and spins around with his hands held out at either side.

“Just went to the gym this morning,” Louis says, eyes falling on Harry’s hands as he pulls out a few bills and folds them between his fingers. “I can still feel my muscles aching.”

“Well, I hope they’re not aching too much for me,” Harry says, holding out the bills, and Louis walks forward and takes them, counting each note before looking back at Harry with a satisfied smile and stuffing them in his pocket. He takes another step forward and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, and he sucks on the skin just above his collarbone.

“Don’t worry. I like pain,” Louis whispers giddily, and Harry takes this as a signal undo the top button on his shirt and pull it up and over his head, and Louis laughs as he gets on his knees and works on Harry’s belt, excitement flashing in his blue eyes. Harry turns his head up and closes his eyes, feeling his pants and his boxers sliding down his thighs and in a moment, he feels Louis’s hand closing around him, fingers gentle but firm, knowing exactly how he likes to be held, and he can feel his breaths coming out ragged, pulse quickening and skin heating up. Louis tugs at it for a second before taking it in his mouth, and Harry bites back a moan, hands coming over to grip Louis’s head and he tangles his fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper and deeper until he can feel his nose pressed against the patch of hair under his stomach.

Louis comes up for air and Harry looks down at him, watching the indecent look in his eyes and it makes his pulse quicken even more because _fuck_ it feels good, and he smiles at him for a second before pushing it back in his mouth, and when he feels Louis’s tongue working around him, that’s when he lets the moan escape.

Soon, Harry’s lifting him up and flinging him on the bed, and he climbs on top of him and presses kisses on his mouth, hands searching every inch of his body and Louis laughs in his ears, fingers clawing at his back as Harry lifts his legs and positions himself between them, but he realizes with a start that it wasn’t Louis’s voice he heard.

It was Niall’s.

He shrugs off Louis’s hands and stands up, looking at Louis with wide eyes and Louis sits up and returns his expression, confusion creasing his forehead.

“What—what’s wrong?” he asks, getting on his knees and watching Harry carefully.

Harry stands rooted to the spot and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head and balling his hands into fists. It’s not happening, it’s not fucking _happening_ right now of all places and he pushes his palms against his face because this is all _fucked up_.

“Harry, what is it? Did I—” Louis starts, concern lacing every word, but Harry slides his hands off and shakes his head.

“No—no, it wasn’t—No,” Harry stammers, turning around and making his way back to the living room. He hears Louis’s footsteps pattering behind him and he stops to pick up his pants from the floor.

“Are you alright?” Louis asks, and Harry just nods his head and fishes out his wallet, and after pulling out another set of bills, he turns back to Louis and holds them out. Louis looks at them with puzzled eyes, flicking them from Harry, to the bills, then back to Harry. “What’s this mean?”

“Take it,” Harry says, taking Louis’s hands and pushing the bills in his palm. “I’m sorry. It—it’s not your fault.”

He closes Louis’s hand and sits on the sofa, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs. He shakes his head again and closes his eyes with a sigh, mind buzzing with a thousand different thoughts. He feels Louis sit beside him on the sofa and he feels a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks, and Harry looks at him with an apologetic smile, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Thanks, mate, but I’m good,” Harry says, and without another word, Louis gets up from the sofa and collects his clothes on the floor, and taking a moment to put them back on, he gives a small wave at Harry before turning around and making his way out of the door.  


  


-

  


Harry opens the bottom kitchen drawer and pulls out a garbage bag pushed all the way in the back, and he opens it as he gets to his feet and looks around him, trying to remember where he’s hid everything.

His first stop is his room, and he pulls out the drawers one by one, digging underneath his clothes and flinging them on the floor until he can see the bottom, and in the middle drawer, he finds a stack of magazines hiding beneath his socks. He takes them out and throws them inside the garbage bag without a second look before searching the rest of the drawers, discovering a few sexual paraphernalia he hadn’t used in _years_ and he wonders to himself why he never bothered to throw them away until now. He runs his fingers along one of the rubber dildos, the first one he’d bought with his own money, and he almost thinks twice about tossing it, feels an unspoken attachment to it but then he realizes that he doesn’t really need it anymore, has outlived its use and he’d be doing himself a favor in getting rid of it, so he shoves it inside the bag and pushes the drawer closed before moving on to his bedside table. Inside, he finds two stacks of DVDs, some he doesn’t even remember watching, much less buying, and he takes them all and throws them in the bag along with everything else.

Gripping the opening closed, he makes his way to the living room, listening to the items tumbling against each other in the bag. He kneels down in front of his television set and turns his attention to the rows of movies on each side, looking to see if he’s missed any, and picks out a few stragglers disguising themselves in the science fiction section, and he tosses them all in the bag.

After a few more trips around the house, making sure he didn’t miss anything, the bag’s nearly full, the sharp edges of the magazines and movies threatening to poke holes if he decides to pack anything else in, and he ties the end tight and pulls on his jacket before making his way out of the complex and into the night air, walking briskly over to the dumpsters behind the building and throwing the bag into the one closest to the street. He makes his way back to the entrance and sits down on the top of the stone steps leading to the doors, and he hangs his head between his legs and thinks about what he’s doing.

He thinks it might be cathartic, throwing out all of his pornography, almost like a _cleansing_ , like it’ll set everything right but he knows for a fact that it won’t, won’t do anything because it’s just him trying to convince himself that he’s ready for change, convince himself that it’ll make everything better, and he’s not so sure _what_ to think anymore, really, what to _feel_ , and he lifts his head up and watches the cars driving past him, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to drown out the thoughts swimming restlessly in his head.  


  


-

  


Harry sits on the edge of his bed and grips his mobile, his free hand rubbing along his forehead, thinking hard about what Zayn had said about Niall the day before.

He’s never really given it much thought, really, never considered it anything more than what it was and he thinks he might have been content in thinking it was just fucking and nothing more because that’s all he’s ever enjoyed and that’s what he’s comfortable with, comfortable knowing there’s no strings attached, no commitments, and he’s never really been the sentimental type, to be honest, never really placed much value on most things because he’s convinced himself that everything’s replaceable, even people.

But then there’s Niall and all of a sudden, everything’s changed.

Now, it’s _not_ just fucking, not just drunken escapades that he’s too fucked up to refuse and maybe it’s because he’s told himself a million times before that he’ll never meet that one person who’ll mean something to him but it’s _odd_ , the feeling he gets when he thinks about Niall, like it’s something foreign, something that doesn’t belong, and it confuses and exhilarates him at the same time. He’s never really felt this way about anything before and it’s different from being inside someone he just met from the street corner a few minutes ago, different from getting himself off a raunchy video he found somewhere on the internet, different from releasing himself with the help of a stranger because now he realizes that there’s something _more_ to it than that, and it _excites_ him.

He stands up and takes a breath, his heart already picking up speed, and he tries not to think about what to say, tries not to sound too contrived or rehearsed because he’s never really done this but he’s not quite sure _what_ he wants to say, doesn’t even know when to start. He shakes his head and closes his eyes, huffing softly because he always does this, always psyches himself out and makes the problem ten times more complicated than it needs to be, and he paces a few times around his room before lifting up his mobile and searching for Niall’s number in his contacts.

He presses it against his ear and waits, getting hotter and hotter in his shirt and he stuffs his hand in his pocket, pinching the fabric inside as he listens to the ringing. He’s not sure what to expect, really, not sure if he’ll even answer after how things went the last time, but he keeps his hopes up because there’s something telling him that this is what he’s supposed to do and he wants to hear Niall’s voice, wants to feel it wrapping around his head the way only his voice can.

It rings twice, three times, six times and he’s feeling less and less optimistic with every one, but after the seventh ring, he hears Niall’s voice, and he feels his stomach drop and his heart skip a beat.

_“You’ve reached Niall. I’m probably busy at the moment so just leave a message after the tone. Thanks.”_

Harry pulls off his mobile and cancels the call, and he looks at it like he’s expecting it to do something and for a moment, he almost thinks that Niall’s going to call back, but when nothing happens, he sits himself back down on his bed with a sigh, heart starting to grow heavy, trying to convince himself that Niall’s probably just sleeping or he’s forgotten his mobile at home, and he picks up the courage and gives it one more try.

The phone rings twice before he hears Niall’s voice again, and he’s starting to feel lightheaded, his heart racing now, and he clicks off his mobile in disappointment when he hears _“You’ve reached Niall”_ and throws it hard onto the living room floor.  


  


-

  


Harry’s in the middle of typing up a report when he sees Zayn from the corners of his eyes, and he debates for a moment whether to look over and ask him what he wants or continue writing the report until he finishes because he _really_ doesn’t want to stay up late at night again fighting off sleep just to get the damn thing finished. He’s _this close_ to picking the latter because the last thing he needs is distraction when Zayn decides to move closer until their faces are inches from touching, looking at Harry’s report with a smile.

Harry closes his eyes and sighs.

“Can I help you?” he asks, taking his fingers off the keys and turning to face Zayn.

Zayn takes a few steps back and straightens himself up, hands coming up to cross over his chest, looking at Harry with a satisfied smile.

“Just wanted to get your attention,” Zayn replies, and Harry starts to shift his attention back to the screen when Zayn shakes his head and flicks his ear, and Harry nearly jumps out of his seat and covers the afflicted area with his hand as he looks at Zayn with confusion.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry yelps, his ear stinging, and Zayn’s smile broadens into a grin. “I am trying to finish something _important_ , if you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m getting a raise for cleaning up the system,” Zayn says, looking proud of himself, and Harry cranes his neck and raises his brow, wondering what that has to do with anything.

“Congratulations,” Harry says dryly, swiveling his chair back to face his computer and placing his fingers back on the keys. “Maybe you can take me out later.”

“Actually, I’ve already got a date,” Zayn says, and Harry looks at the boyish glee flashing in his eyes.

“Really?” Harry asks, interest finally piqued like Zayn had hoped, and Zayn leans back on the cubicle wall.

“Yeah, I’m taking Perrie out tonight at this Italian restaurant off Ledbury Road. Heard it was very good.”

Harry feels his heart skip a beat, flashes of Niall’s face in the restaurant popping up in the back of his mind. He shakes his head, not willing to get himself all worked up about it, and looks at Zayn with a raised brow instead because this is not about him, not this time. “Who the hell is Perrie?”

Zayn laughs. “The _intern_.”

Harry chuckles, remembering her shock of purple hair. Zayn and his odd things. “Oh, _her_. I didn’t think you were serious about that.”

“Me neither, really,” Zayn says with a shrug, and he picks himself up and stretches his arms in the air. “But I thought, why the hell not? Only got one life, might as well live it, you know?”

“Well, have fun,” Harry says, going back to his report and picking up where he left off. “The food’s really good there. Niall ate nearly half the menu when we went.”

“I know. He’s the one that told me.”

Harry’s stomach drops and he turns back to Zayn, heart beginning to race.

“You—you talked to him?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, saw him at the bar last night. Talked for a few minutes and all that. The boy _really_ loves his chicken wings.”

Harry swallows dryly and pretends to ignore the pounding in the back of his head.

“Did he say anything about me?” Harry asks, hope curling up inside his chest, trying his best to show he’s not as affected as he is, and Zayn just shrugs and sticks his hands in his pocket, looking at Harry with a mellow expression.

“Asked him about the situation between you two. He just told me he was tired of waiting.”

Harry feels like a sledgehammer hit him square in the chest and he opens his mouth to say something, but Zayn’s already starting to turn around.

“Well, I’ll just leave you to your report, then,” he says, and before Harry can call him back, he’s already disappeared around the corner, and Harry sinks back in his seat and stares at the wall where Zayn was standing a moment ago, a heavy feeling pressing against his chest, and all of a sudden, he doesn’t feel like finishing his report anymore.  


  


-

  


Harry taps his foot on the floor, eyes intently watching the clock on the wall, anxiety filling his lungs like ice water and he’s starting to get jittery, feeling like he’s about to crawl out of his skin because he’s not sure how this is all going to pan out.

After waiting a few minutes, he finally gets up from his bed and snatches his mobile sitting on the table, and he makes his way to the living room where he picks up the jacket hanging over the backrest of the sofa and slips it on, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s stupid, he thinks, getting worked up like this but he can’t help it, can’t help but feel anxious and scared because Niall hasn’t returned any of his calls or answered his texts.

He sighs and looks at the time on his mobile screen. It’s a quarter past eight and his inbox is still as empty as ever, no notifications, no missed calls, _nothing_ , and he’s feeling less and less optimistic about it but what did he expect, really, because Niall offered no guarantee that he’ll even _go_ , and he starts to wonder if Niall had already changed his number and he’s actually bothering someone else. He shakes his head, tries not to think about it, and goes on his contact list, scrolling down to Niall’s name and, taking a deep breath, he presses the call button.

After one ring, it goes to voice mail, and he feels his heart getting heavier but he holds himself up and tries to ignore it, tries to focus on Niall’s voice saying _“leave a message after the tone,”_ and when he hears the tone, he clears his throat and presses his mobile closer to his ear.

“Hey, it’s Harry. Again. I know I’ve already left you about ten messages saying the same thing but I just want to ask you out one more time, if that’s okay. I’m—er—I’m gonna be at the restaurant in a few minutes and if you get this message, I hope you’ll join me there. I’ll be waiting outside. Bye.”

He clicks his mobile off and sticks it in his pocket before pinching the area between his eyes and heaving a deep sigh, feeling more and more awkward about the situation with every message but he doesn’t have a choice, really, can’t think of anything else _to_ do. If it doesn’t work out then it doesn’t work out, he keeps telling himself, it’s just not meant to be, and he wishes it was that easy, that black and white but the reality is much more complicated than he cares to admit, and at this point, he’s just trying not to let this boy slip from his fingertips.

He tightens his jacket around him and grabs the scarf hanging on the coat rack next to the door. He wraps it around his neck and takes his keys from the wall, and he closes his eyes before turning the knob and walking out into the cold night air.  


  


-

  


It takes Harry longer than he thought to get there, the seconds stretching into minutes and he tries to keep his mind in check, tries to occupy himself with the bright lights lining the streets as the cab speeds past them but every time he tries to push Niall out of his head, he comes flooding back in, filling his ears with his laughter and feeling his lips against his cheek and it’s hard not to blame himself for all this, brought this on himself, really, because he has a natural talent for fucking things up.

He tears his eyes away from the window and looks straight ahead, trying to read the street names to distract himself and it feels like an eternity, like he’s just looping the same place over and over again and he’s starting to wonder if this is a bad idea, if he should just hightail it back to his flat and pretend nothing ever happened because it seems easier that way, seems like the most practical approach but he knows that’s not the case, that will _never_ be the case if he just turned around now, and he closes his eyes and counts the seconds before the cab driver calls him to let him know they’ve arrived.

Harry pays him with a small smile before walking out the door, and he pulls his jacket closer to his body as he steps on the sidewalk.

He looks at the entrance to the restaurant and huffs silently, his breath coming out as wisps of smoke curling around his face, but he doesn’t go inside. He moves off to the side and leans his back against the wall next to the board with tonight’s specials carefully written with blue and pink chalk, and he pockets his hands and looks around him.

The street’s busy for this time of the night, couples huddled close to each other to battle the cold, small groups of friends laughing and singing songs he’d heard a few times on the radio. He tightens his jacket around him and moves his eyes across the street.

There’s a man bending over a car, arms resting on the window frame, talking to the driver, and it takes a moment for his face to register but Harry realizes with a start that it’s Louis, with his copper hair and his too-tight shirt completely inappropriate for the weather. He watches on as Louis straightens his back with a smile and opens the door, looking around him for a moment before getting inside. The car jolts into action and Harry watches it disappear around the bend, and he sighs and pulls out his mobile to look at the time.

It’s twenty past nine and he’s getting nervous, his pulse starting to quicken, and he looks around him, trying to see if he can spot his blond hair anywhere. He holds on to the hope that Niall’s probably just held back by traffic or had to go back to his place after forgetting his wallet or his keys or _anything_ that can convince him that he’s going to come any moment now, going to see him walking down the sidewalk with that smile on his face, but after waiting for an hour, he finally accepts the fact that he’s fucked up his chances and Niall’s _not_ coming, and he hangs his head and makes his way down the street, looking for a cab to take him back home.  


  


-

  


There’s an empty feeling spreading across Harry’s chest, like his ribs are being ripped out piece by piece, leaving gaps in between the muscles and hollowing out his heart, and he drops his shoulders and leans his head against the elevator wall, watching the floor number above the doors change as he ascends.

He feels _tired_ , physically and mentally, the cold finally taking its toll on his body, and he wishes he’s snuggled up in his bed with a cup of hot chocolate between his fingers because if there’s one thing he can’t fuck up, it’s a cup of hot fucking chocolate, and he sighs and holds on to the bar next to his hip, gripping it tight until his knuckles turn white.

He knows there’s no sense in thinking about it, no use in dwelling on it because what’s done is done and he can’t control fate’s hands, never could, and he tries to convince himself that he’ll be better off for it, _sturdier_ for it and maybe he’ll finally learn his lesson about falling too hard and too fast without a safety net to catch him when he does. Niall just _complicates_ things, he tells himself, tells himself because he needs a reason not to feel this way, and he’s better off by himself, really, always has been and he doesn’t need someone else to fill a hole that’s not there, can pay someone to do just the same with the satisfaction of knowing that he’ll never feel this way with someone who loves him by how much money he has in his pocket.

But he sighs because he knows different, _feels_ different no matter how much he tries to tell himself otherwise and it’s like there’s a projector in the back of his head and he can’t bring himself to turn away, playing the same images over and over again and he’s fucking _tired_ of how it makes him feel, makes him feel like he’s getting smaller and smaller as the seconds tick past and he doesn’t want it, doesn’t _need_ it.

He straightens himself up when the doors open and he watches as a couple step in, the man leading the woman by the small of her back and they stand on the other side of the elevator, pushing a button and closing the doors. Harry studies them from the corners of his eyes, seeing the way the woman’s nuzzling her head against his shoulder, how the man wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, and Harry shakes his head and pockets his hands, trying not to think of the freckles dotting Niall’s skin, the dark roots in his hair, his blue, blue eyes.

His stop comes and he walks out without a word, fingers closing around his keys, ready to pull them out, and, taking a few steps into the hallway, he lifts his head up and searches for his door, and he knits his brows together when he sees the silhouette of someone standing right beside it.

He doesn’t work it out at first but he can tell it’s a man, a rather thin man, hidden behind a jacket pulled tight around his body, and Harry closes his hands tighter around his keys, wondering what he’s doing there standing next to his flat.

But he doesn’t wonder for long because when the man turns around at the sound of his footsteps, he feels his breath catch in his throat, and he stops in mid-step when he sees the smile stretching Niall’s face.

Harry doesn’t believe it at first, just puts it off as his mind playing tricks on him again and maybe he _should_ get his head checked out, take some pills for it at least because whatever it is, it’s not going away anytime soon, but when he jolts himself back into motion, he can see Niall’s face clearly, his pale skin, his red collared shirt buttoned all the way at the top, and all of a sudden, he feels something spreading in his chest, like the air in his lungs are pushing against his ribcage and he feels his heart racing, his skin lighting up, and Niall walks forward until they’re a few inches apart and Harry can feel his head going numb.

“Hello,” Niall says simply, smile bright as ever, and Harry just looks at him like an idiot, mind buzzing around with a million thoughts and he has so many things to say, questions to ask but he can’t form the words, disappearing the moment he sees them flash across his eyes.

“Hi,” he replies instead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and he feels like a fool standing there, still trying to work out if Niall’s really standing in front of him.

“I—er—I got your messages by the way,” Niall says, shifting his eyes to the floor and tapping it with the tip of his shoe. “I’ve missed the sound of your voice.”

Harry laughs and Niall brings his attention back to him, his smile broadening.

“Why—Why’d you come here?” Harry asks, looking at Niall in the eyes and the next moment, he feels Niall’s hand sliding around his wrist, pulling his hand out and linking their fingers together, and Harry’s grinning now because his hand feels soft and warm, and before he can open his mouth to say something else, Niall presses a kiss on the corner of his lips, and he’s glad Niall’s holding on to him to keep him from floating away.

“I just thought it was my turn to make you wait.”


End file.
